


Hey, Angel

by QuothTheRaven_Nevermore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:29:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuothTheRaven_Nevermore/pseuds/QuothTheRaven_Nevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes fall to the words that started it all. The words that were once the most beautiful thing that he had heard, ones that could make him smile. The words that sounded like music every time they fell from Harry's lips in a greeting, "Hey, angel..."<br/>Sad Larry one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the album isn't out yet and Hey Angel could end up being like the most upbeat and happy song on it, but I heard the name and thought that it sounded sad. So I ended up writing this based on the name.
> 
> Just a warning, suicide is mentioned.

Louis walks into his living room, carefully taking his red shoes off and placing them next to the door. He walks to his couch and sits down, sighing deeply. The house is completely quiet, like it's holding it's breath, waiting for something to happen or someone to arrive. He clicks on the tv, where it plays a movie that's too loud in the quiet house. Louis shuts the tv off, his eyes landing on a pile of papers sitting on his coffee table that seem to materialize every day even though he clears them off. It's his hands, cold hands, that rummage through the electric bills and internet charges and other payments he needs to make, before he reaches the bottom. His breath catches in his throat as he looks at the familiar handwriting, feeling like a knife has been plunged into his chest. With careful, shaking hands, he picks up the letter, holding it like it's is fragile glass that might suddenly shatter. He brings it close to his face, observing the letter. The desperation in every word, the screams of someone calling for help in every syllable, the hopelessness written in every punctuation mark. His eyes fall to the words that started it all. The words that were once the most beautiful thing that he had heard, ones that could make him smile. The words that sounded like music every time they fell from Harry's lips in a greeting, "Hey, angel..."  
Louis hates these words with every part of his being. He wishes that he could destroy them and forget that it ever happened. Forget them like he was forgotten. But the letter is the only thing he has left of Harry, alongside nightmares and guilt that weighs on him like nothing else.  
Cautiously he makes his way to his room, making sure that the letter doesn't get at all damaged or bent. He sets his shoes down next to the pair of worn brown boots that he'll never move. He stands behind the desk in the room, setting the letter down on top. Harry's jacket is still draped over the back of the chair. Louis gently picks it up and brings it to his nose. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes. It still smells like him. The smell fades more and more everyday, and Louis knows that maybe he's just imagining the smell still being there. That he's imagining it there so he has something to cling onto because he can't let him go. But he still clings to the scent like a drowning man clings to the pieces of the wrecked boat that can still keep him above water. That's what Louis feels like. A drowning man. Barely breathing, each breath harder to suck in than the last. He opens his eyes, still expecting Harry to be standing in front of him. He can picture him so perfectly it hurts. His wild hair, his shining eyes, his lips that were always turned up slightly in a smile. The sound of his voice as he asks Louis where his favorite shirt is before laughing because it was right in front of him, Louis having already found it because he knew that Harry would want to wear it that day. Louis opens his eyes, expecting Harry to be around somewhere, he feels fresh pain when he's met with silence. The letter is where it was before, sitting on the desk, each word like a accusation. He was the reason this happened. When Harry needed him to see what was going on, when he needed Louis to just be there for him, he wasn't. He picks up the letter, treating it like it's an animal that might bite him. And he reads the two words that have caused him more pain than he thought possible, "Hey, Angel,  
How's your day been? Good I hope. You always deserve to have a good day, even if you don't think so. You're perfect to me Lou, so you deserve to have a perfect day. My perfect little angel. Remember when I first called you angel? When you acted like my nurse when I was sick and cooked me something to eat and it was awful?" Louis laughs, remembering his horrible attempt at chicken noodle soup. Harry ate it, only so Louis wouldn't get his feelings hurt. He'd called him an angel for doing it, and because when Louis came in, a feverish Harry thought that he was an angel because he was dressed in light grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt. He continues reading. "You were always my angel. Taking care of me, looking after me, making me laugh, making sure that I always knew that you loved me. There's no words to describe how happy you've made me, angel. I love you. Don't ever doubt that. Promise me, angel, that you'll never forget that I love you. Promise me that you'll remember every morning when the sun comes up that I love you, even if it doesn't always feel that way. Promise me, angel, that you'll never forget that you were the most important thing to me."  
Louis is crying now, wiping his eyes. He's breaths are shaky and his vision is blurry, but that doesn't stop him. He doesn't want to keep reading. He wants to stop time on this moment. One where Harry loves him and he loves Harry. Just stay in this moment and never leave because he hates the next part. He hears his breath catch on a sob as he keeps reading.  
"I'm so sorry, angel. I'm sorry that I'm going to do this. I'm sorry that I couldn't be stronger. I'm sorry that I couldn't wait for you to come home, laughing and happy like you always were, so you could tell me that it was okay and that we were going to be okay and that this would get better and that one day I'd be able to laugh and smile and that one day I wouldn't feel this constant, crushing helplessness. I'm so sorry Louis."  
Louis is sobbing now, his ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Pain filled breaths and mourning exhales. Sounding like a lost soul trying to find it's way back to it's home. The only thing he can see is his name so carefully written among the other quickly scrawled words, like Harry was racing against something and if the time ran out, he wouldn't do it.  
"I'm sorry that this is the only thing that I could think to do. But don't be sad, you know I hate you see you sad. And I'll be seeing you, but now I'll be the angel. My angel's angel."  
Louis smiles sadly. He can imagine it so clearly. Harry laughing at his own joke, a breathless sound because of the tears that fell from his eyes and to the paper, landing on the words. "I'm sorry it had to be like this, angel, but I couldn't take it anymore. I wish it could have been different, living with my angel until we were fat and old and we hated each other." Louis huffs another laugh, despite the feeling that his heart is getting ripped in two. "I'm sorry. I love you, Louis. -Harry."  
As Louis finishes the letter, he feels his heart break, his chest collapse, and the blood leave his body. His entire world is shattered again. It was his fault. The doctors and friends and people told him that it wasn't his fault. That sometimes people with depression get better and sometimes they don't. Harry was one of the ones that don't. Louis didn't believe anyone when they said it wasn't his fault. It was. How was Harry supposed to get better when his own angel didn't notice that he was only getting worse. Louis turns to look at the bed, the same bed where Harry was, still, pale, beautiful. Like sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince to come and wake her up. But Louis couldn't wake him up, no one could. Not when sleeping beauty was lying in a bed he'd made himself, an empty bottle of sleeping pills resting on the night stand next to him.  
Right now, Louis thinks that he knows exactly how Harry was feeling when he was writing the letter. He recognizes the empty feeling. He knows what it's like to feel that hopeless. Feeling everything you love slip away like sand through your fingers.  
It's this feeling that propels Louis to the bathroom, the letter clutched tightly to his chest. His hand hovers above the handle to open the cabinet. He looks at himself in the mirror, sunken eyes that no longer have any light in them, empty smiles that don't mean anything, bags under his eyes that show that he hasn't been at peace for months. He wonder if this is what Harry looked like, when Louis was too blind to see how bad he really was. He opens the cabinet and takes out the bottle of pills. He thinks about writing a long, heartfelt letter, like Harry did so whoever finds him can mourn properly, but he can't bring himself to do it. Instead, all he writes are three words: I'm coming, Harry. Without hesitation, Louis takes the pills, swallowing them dry and lies in his bed. He imagines that this is how Harry did it. Just lying here, thinking maybe until he couldn't think anymore. Louis knows that by doing this, he's damning himself to hell, but he thinks that it's worth it. That one minute, one second, one glimpse of Harry is enough to make it all worth it. It's worth it if he gets to see his sleeping beauty. Louis feels himself falling asleep. Not to a sleep that he'll wake up from refreshed, but one where he won't ever have to worry about waking up. As his mind becomes fuzzy and the proverbial white light at the end of the tunnel gets closer, he swears that he sees Harry. Wild, young, bright, healthy, Harry waiting for him at the end with an infinitely sad yet infinitely happy smile on his face. And when Louis reaches him, tackling him and holding him tighter than ever before, the first thing he says is, "Hey, angel."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it.


End file.
